


Manners

by Rachrar



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachrar/pseuds/Rachrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, who'd think that somebody as stupid as Alfred let himself seem would get to be the world's largest, strongest, BEST superpower ever? Exactly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manners

"Man, I don't know what I'd do without you! Thanks for helping me be so awesome!" America waved good-bye to England, smiling blithely. "Have fun in England, being a gentleman and doing your manners thing!"

England waved his hand in a dismissal of America's words, not bothering to turn about and face him. After all, it was simply pointless when America wouldn't listen.

America sighed once England left, rolling his eyes and huffing. Was England stupid or something? Honestly, who'd think that somebody as stupid as Alfred let himself seem would get to be the world's largest, strongest, BEST superpower ever? Exactly.

Alfred was in his home once the sun set, watching the colors explode on the horizon before entering his large home, plopping at the kitchen table and sipping at some coffee as he read the paper.

_BLITZKREIG CONTINUES; LONDON DECIMATED_

He snorted and folded the paper into a square, setting the coffee cup on top of it, making a ring to circle the end of  _BLITZKRIEG_ , as if highlighting the war section of the bombings. He leaned back in the chair, smiling to himself as he set his crossed ankles on the table after kicking off his shoes, balancing on two legs of the chair and putting his hands behind his head to make a cradle, comfortable with the delicate balance.

"Ahh~ Coffee just hits the spot~"

* * *

"I need  _help_ , you git! I'm  _dying!_ " England wailed at the meeting, slamming his fist down on the wooden table. The extra movement made the bandages around his torso blossom with scarlet, Alfred in the same delicate position, leaning in the chair. His expression was bright and animated, but a tinge of sadness lent him a melancholy air.

"Arty, I can't just bust in and save you, you said I'm not allowed to before-" He began only to be cut off by Arthur again.

"Then why the bloody hell are you in this room? You're here, with the Allies-" he made a broad gesture to include the other three males in the room, sitting quietly, albeit, curiously, and watching the normally controlled Briton rage. China was stoic, Russia smiling and almost dancing, playing with his fingers and making motions as if they spoke to each other, muttering under his breath in Russian. France was unusually demask, his usually radiant hair seeming to lose its luster slowly.

"I said I wanted to just talk to you, Arty, not talk about  _this_ ," he shrugged. "I don't know, alright? It depends." His smile was back and he laughed. "Maybe you should ask nicely~!"

Arthur glared at him before picked up a pen and throwing it at him. "Get out."

Alfred went to dodge it but ended up letting it smack him in the forehead instead, the flat line of the pen pressing into his head with a dull thwack. "Alright, alright. Jeez. Learn some manners, Arty," he chuckled as he left the room, teasing.

Once the door snicked shut, Arthur sank back into his chair slowly, leaning on his hands, elbows on the table. "I'm going to die..." He murmured in a high pitched voice before giggling. "Germany is going to bomb me until I  _die!_ " His laughter was hysterical, terrified tears almost falling but not quite. Francis frowned and reached to touch Arthur's shoulder, the brush instantly stopping the laughter issuing from the thick-browed man's lips. Arthur began to pant from the force of the laughter stealing his breath, then sank into the table weakly.

"I'm going to die."

The other three nations were silent, Russia having stopped his game and blinking innocently over. China's lips tightened, but he did not speak. France sighed softly, murmuring under his breath in French, "Mon Dieu... Without Amerique... we will  _all_  die."

* * *

Alfred shrugged off his bomber jacket, draping it over the back of his chair before reaching in his desk drawer and pulling out a dart set. He set up the black and red board on the wall in his office, papers spilling over the desk and abandoned coffee cups everywhere. He sat in his chair, smiling to himself and humming under his breath, throwing darts at a tacked picture over the dartboard. After a few soft, solid thumps of the first darts, Alfred began to sing.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my poor Arty~"

A black dart hissed through the air to sink into the corckboard deeply, just a little above the green eye.

"Take a key and lock 'im up, lock 'im up, lock 'im up, take a key and lock 'im up, my poor Arty~"

Another heavy thwap and an eye was pierced, just brushing a thick brow.

"How will we keep it locked, keep it locked, keep it locked? How will we keep it locked, my poor Arty~?"

Two more solid thwacks and the darts were all in the board, piercing the pale paper with the visage of an Englishman on it. Alfred stood up, still singing, and pulled each one out slowly.

"Let a German bomb him bad, bomb him bad, bomb him bad, let a German bomb him bad, my poor Arty~"

He returned to his seat and took aim again.

"When will we let him go, let him go, let him go? When will we let him go, my poor Arty~?"

Alfred's eyes flashed, a darkened air swirling about him with a slight smile.

"Only when he has manners, has manners, has manners, only when he has manners, my poor Arty~"

Alfred smiled as he saw each dart sink into the board deeply, sighing in contentment at the tight grouping, the feathered ends brushing each other. He leaned back in the chair, the balance kept even now, closing his own icy eyes. A soft shadow shifted in the corner, and slipped out, the smell of leaves and earth following after.

Alfred's lips curled up into a smile. Perhaps Arthur would have some manners that he had told Alfred to have so many times and so many years ago, bending him over a knee to tan his hide if he didn't say "please" and "thank you" and "sir" every other word, it seemed. Well, America didn't have to deal with that anymore, thank you very much. He was a superpower. People should have manners when dealing with  _him_  now, dammit. It was only fair, and America was ready for his due.

"Will you please join this war, Alfred?" Arthur asked sotly, one knee bent beneath him and a hand on the hardwood floor, head bowed. "England needs your assistance, America." His head lowered even further. "I... need your help as the stronger nation."

Alfred brought up a knee to cross the other, elbows resting on either arm rest and fingers intertwined. Sapphire hues gazed down to the proud head bowed in homage to the boy he himself had raised, brushed tears from the cheeks of, banished ghosts for, fed and clothed, made strong, and the only nation to ever make him bend his pride.

"Please..."

Alfred's lips quirked on the edges, eyes shining.

"Only because you asked so nicely."


End file.
